


Offer Your Throat

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Overuse of Wolf Imagery for Flirtation and Sex Metaphor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Jaskier's in a particular mood tonight. Lucky for him, so is Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 69
Kudos: 1020
Collections: (GG) PWP - Witcher (geraskier), (GG) Witcher, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Offer Your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Witcher kinkmeme prompt asking for seductive banter built around the whole wolf imagery. The original anon was inspired by the song "You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth" so I stole a few lines from said song, as well as a few little bits from the ever-appropriate "Howl" by Florence + the Machine.

Jaskier was in rare form tonight. Geralt could sense it, all the way across the tavern. The bard was probably his usual self to anyone else, seeing as the patrons didn’t know him all that well, but Geralt knew him very well indeed, and Jaskier was being especially brazen.

He kept standing in such ways that made him spread his legs—hiking his foot up onto bar stools and tables, his hips swinging a little more than usual, tugging on his collar to expose his throat—and he knew exactly what all of that did to Geralt.

He was also using his more… suggestive songs. As if the whole Continent wasn’t already aware that the bard Jaskier was wildly pining for the White Wolf of Rivia. As if everyone and their mother hadn’t already gossiped their fucking tongues off as to the meaning behind such songs as _Her Sweet Kiss_ and _Witcher's Blade_.

Geralt watched from the corner, nursing his ale and watching Jaskier steadily. He’d already completed his contract here so there was nothing to do but soak up Jaskier’s… performance.

At last, Jaskier finished up for the night, accepting everyone’s cheers and praises like a cat rolling in the afternoon sun. He slid up to Geralt, perching himself on Geralt’s thigh, brazen as anything. It was a hot, sticky night, late in the summer, usually too hot for touching, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind and Geralt always appreciated the heat. Especially the heat he could feel radiating off of Jaskier now, the dark, musky scent of his arousal.

Geralt bared his teeth, just a little, one hand falling to Jaskier’s hip, keeping him steady on Geralt’s thigh. “Being a bit daring tonight.”

Jaskier leaned in, showing off just how much he’d opened up his doublet, giving Geralt (and, frankly, anyone else who cared to look, since Jaskier was a show-off) a good look at his chest. He also tilted his head up, revealing his throat, showing it off. Taunting Geralt to bite into it. “Maybe.”

Geralt leaned in like he was going to nose at that tantalizing bit of skin, but feinted at the last second and grabbed his ale instead, taking another sip. Jaskier narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “You know what they say, about tempting danger.”

“Is this about my sitting in your lap in front of everyone?” Jaskier didn’t sound in the least perturbed. “Geralt. Everyone _knows_.”

“Hmm.”

“They know I’m your bard. And you’re my white wolf.”

“Careful. Wolves bite.”

“I know.” Jaskier played with some of the strands of Geralt’s white hair, winding them around his fingers. “Maybe I want to get bitten.”

“They tell tales about foolish people like you.”

“Oh? And what do the tales say?”

“The tales say that these foolish people go out into the woods, looking for danger, but just a taste.” Geralt finished off his ale and set the tankard aside. “And they get a fair more than that.”

“What do they get?” Jaskier asked, tugging lightly on Geralt’s hair.

Geralt bared his teeth properly this time and let a growl work up into his voice. “Devoured.”

Jaskier shifted back so that he was now more firmly in Geralt’s lap. “Maybe I want to be devoured.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier let his arms drape over Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt took a quick look around, but nobody was watching them in their dark corner. Everyone was drunk, and heading home for the night.

Good. He didn’t care who saw in the sense that he was ashamed. He cared because some people didn’t take kindly to those who slept with Witchers, and he refused to put Jaskier in danger. It was better, now, but it still paid to be careful. It wasn’t paranoia if they were really out to get you.

Besides, as much as he loved Jaskier’s shamelessness, some things were for Geralt and Geralt alone to see.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to his pouting bard, and wrapped his arm fully around Jaskier’s waist. “You’d offer me your throat, then?”

Jaskier pressed himself in closer, swiveling his hips and Geralt gave into temptation, pressing his nose against Jaskier’s neck and inhaling deeply. “But you have to give me something in return.”

“Oh?” Geralt tightened his grip, scraping his teeth over Jaskier’s pulse, feeling it thud just underneath the skin.

“I want your teeth.” Jaskier ran his hand through Geralt’s hair properly now, tugging just slightly. “I want your jaws. I want your _hunger_.”

“Hmm.” Geralt bit down, hard, brief, and he heard Jaskier stifle a moan. “They’ll find nothing left of you in the morning.”

“I don’t want there to be anything left of me in the morning.” Jaskier pulled back, hands still tangled in Geralt’s hair, his eyes boring right into Geralt’s. “Come on, I know you’re hungry for me.”

“You’ve been making sure of that all night.”

“Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

Geralt snorted and stood up, nearly knocking Jaskier on his ass before he caught him around the waist, keeping Jaskier upright and pressed against him. “I’m not hungry for you.”

He turned and walked up the steps towards their room for the night, knowing that Jaskier would follow—and Jaskier did, spluttering the entire time.

Geralt let Jaskier into their room, then closed the door behind him and crowded him up against the wall, knowing his hands were bruising-tight on Jaskier’s hips and also knowing that the bard didn’t care. “I’m _starving_.”

A look of pure satisfaction slid into Jaskier’s eyes and he grabbed Geralt’s face, kissing him. Geralt growled, feeling precisely like the wolf he’d been teasing Jaskier about being, hauling the bard up against him. Jaskier gasped and Geralt slid his tongue inside the other man’s mouth, licking in just like wolves did—except they did it simply to greet, to say hello, and he was doing it to _claim_.

He hauled Jaskier across the room (which wasn’t far) to the bed, yanking at his clothes. Back when they’d first started doing this he’d tried resisting. He’d tried to hide how much he wanted this, how much he _needed_ it, but Jaskier was just so—just so full of sunshine, so full of, dare he even think it, love. Jaskier had so _much_ to give, and he let Geralt be greedy and take in a way nobody ever had, and it was true, Geralt was starving for him.

“I’d starve without you,” he growled, his voice rough and low and dark, and Jaskier keened like it was causing him physical pain to not have Geralt inside of him right now.

Sometimes, it felt like he could taste Jaskier’s very heart when he bit down, felt the racing pulse against his tongue, and it was an addiction like nothing else he’d ever known.

He all but ripped Jaskier’s pants off, patiently letting Jaskier work his own armor off, before pressing Jaskier back down onto the mattress.

“Wait, wait, Geralt, my doublet—I’m not finished getting undressed—”

“You should’ve thought about that before you bedded a wolf,” Geralt warned him, nosing along the crease of Jaskier’s thigh. He nipped at the sensitive skin there and Jaskier yelped, then moaned as Geralt sucked on the underside of his cock.

If he’d had the words—if he could find it in him to say the things he meant to say, wanted to say, without it feeling like he was dragging rocks out of his throat—he would’ve told Jaskier long ago that he wasn’t like this with any over lover. That it was only Jaskier who stirred this up in him, who let the seams holding Geralt back pop and come loose, that it was only for Jaskier that he became this hunter. He tried to be… not soft, exactly, with his previous lovers (mostly whores), but something a bit more civilized than this. But Jaskier liked him wild, liked his untamed wolf, and set something in Geralt’s chest to howling like nothing else.

 _Be careful_ , he wanted to warn. _Be careful what you do to me, little lark._

He wondered sometimes if Jaskier had done this to all of his lovers. If he reduced them all to such feral behavior. But it didn’t matter—Geralt was his only lover now.

Wolves didn’t share.

Geralt worked his way farther down, his hands wrapped around Jaskier’s thighs to keep him still as he sucked at his balls, drew them up out of the way and hauled Jaskier up to start licking at his entrance. They didn’t always have time for such things. A lot of the time they couldn’t even fuck properly, just handjobs in the bath, but _oh_ , his bard was a tasty little morsel, so very responsive, and so very loud as if he really was being devoured by some beast in the forest.

He twisted his tongue inside of the bard and Jaskier gave a strangled cry, his hand a tight fist in Geralt’s hair. “And I thought—the wolf was the one—who did the howling,” he panted, and then he cursed colorfully as Geralt sucked at his rim.

Geralt kept at it until Jaskier was a babbling mess, and he really did feel like a wolf as a not-quite-purr worked its way out of his throat. Jaskier was so beautifully greedy, so eager to please, so desperate for praise, and Geralt was happy to oblige him. Because, _gods_ , nobody else could take it, nobody else wanted what he could give.

He added his fingers at last, the low, constant growl still in the back of his throat, licking sloppily around them, watching as his fingers disappeared into that tight, slicked up hole. Anyone else with a Witcher, they wanted the animal because they wanted their dirty suspicions proved right and their one night of bragging rights. Or they didn’t want the animal and were terrified of the possibility. Jaskier, though—Jaskier wanted the animal because it was a part of _Geralt_ , because he _loved_ Geralt—

Fuck, he smelled so _good_ like this, leaking all over his stomach and writhing desperately, high-pitched whines escaping from the back of his throat. Geralt finally removed his mouth, reaching blindly for the oil as he sucked at the soft skin of Jaskier’s inner thigh, sank his teeth in, made a mark that would sting sweetly and stick out for days. He smelled _so_ good.

“You smell like prey,” Geralt admitted.

Jaskier gave a strangled moan. “Maybe I should have made you chase me first.”

Geralt’s questing fingers finally found the two things they were searching for: the ones searching through their packs found the oil, and the ones inside Jaskier found the swollen spot that made Jaskier moan like he was in heat.

His hand shook a little as he slicked himself up. “You’d turn anyone into a hunter.”

Jaskier gave a strangled laugh. “I’m a hunter myself, Geralt, don’t know if you noticed, I did most of the pursuing in this relationship.”

It was true. Jaskier had been the open one, the one who hadn’t shied away, terrified of fucking this up. And Jaskier _could_ hunt others, if he wanted. Geralt had simply noticed that Jaskier never had to. It rarely took more than his very presence, or a well-timed wink or lyric thrown a person’s way, to get that person to approach him.

And he let Geralt do this to him. Geralt, of all people. He let Geralt rub his rough, callused skin and his cursing mouth against Jaskier’s wedding dress flesh, he let Geralt hold his tender body and tender heart in his clumsy hands, he _let_ him.

Geralt slid his fingers out and pushed his cock in, his breath shuddering out of him. He moved his hands up to either side of Jaskier’s face, bracing himself, nuzzling against the man’s neck. He smelled. So. Good.

“Mmm…” Jaskier ran his hands through Geralt’s hair, down his back. “My big scary wolf. Mine but not tamed, are you? Hmm?”

Geralt nipped at the tendon in Jaskier’s neck and Jaskier chuckled. “No, not at all.” His voice was barely a rumble. It felt like Jaskier was the moon and he was the ocean tide, following the bard’s draw.

“Go on then. Be feral for me.” Jaskier’s voice was a croon, like when he was singing to seduce his audience, drawing them in with intimate lyrics and soft melodies.

Geralt didn’t need to be told twice. Both of them were going to be howling before this was through.

He wanted to kiss Jaskier, to bite at his lips, to suck on his tongue, but this angle wasn’t quite satisfying enough, not right now, and he had to pull out, flipping him over and sliding right back in with barely a hitch in his rhythm. He couldn’t quite kiss Jaskier now, but gods, this angle was what he wanted, and they really were fucking like animals now, back to chest, hard and slick. Jaskier pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with neediness of his own, and he didn’t stop until Geralt got a hand around his throat and fucking _made_ him stay still.

Jaskier whined, and Geralt sank his teeth into the nape of his neck, his hips shoving in relentlessly, over and over, rutting, drinking in Jaskier’s desperate noises, Jaskier’s smell, Jaskier’s heat, how Jaskier stayed so good and still for Geralt to just _fuck_ him like this. He wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s torso, pinning them together, flicking at Jaskier’s nipples and pinching them until Jaskier let out a noise that was sure to have the other patrons banging on the walls in annoyance.

As if Geralt cared what they thought.

Well, he had, once, but Jaskier had taught him not to care. And he was a wolf, after all, he’d protect his pack if anyone dared to come after Jaskier.

He moved his hand lower, squeezing cruelly around the base of Jaskier’s cock, and Jaskier sobbed brokenly. “Geralt, _please_.”

Gods above, he could swear sometimes that Jaskier was made for this. Made for him. Geralt stroked him roughly and Jaskier came almost instantly, seizing up and shuddering with it, squeezing Geralt’s cock tightly, and Geralt felt half-delirious with pleasure as he thought, nonsensically, _mate_ , and came hard.

He was always a tactile person, and thank fuck, so was Jaskier, so Jaskier didn’t mind at all that Geralt liked to curl around him afterwards and smell him, soak up the scent of the two of them, of their joining, and feel the way Jaskier’s heart slowed from a running rabbit back into something steady and true.

Actually, that reminded him of something.

“You’re not prey,” he clarified.

“What?” Jaskier turned in his arms, his throat a beautiful mess of bruises from Geralt’s mouth. Devoured indeed.

“You’re feral, too.” Geralt had seen it enough times. If people were shown the two of them and asked to decide which of them was the one to start bar fights, to get pots and pans thrown at them, and to regularly curse people out and/or wish bodily harm upon others, people would decide wrong. Compared to Jaskier, Geralt was practically a diplomat.

“Perhaps we’re both wolves, then,” Jaskier replied, sounding incredibly smug. “A little two-wolf pack.”

Oh, no. “You are not turning this into a song.”

“We’ll see.” Jaskier bumped their noses together. Shit, the bard was definitely going to turn this into a song. Geralt bared his teeth at him again in warning, even though he knew it wouldn’t intimidate the bard. Jaskier was never intimidated by anything Geralt did.

Sure enough, Jaskier just chuckled. “How’s that old tale go?” he asked, brushing his lips against Geralt’s. “My, my, what big teeth you have, Mister Wolf.”

There were plenty of tales that included lines like that. And all of them had the same response. “The better to eat you with.”

“Good,” Jaskier whispered, and then he sealed their mouths together.


End file.
